


‘til i am nothing else but the feeling becoming true

by embryonic



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, followed by lots of validation and reassuring head tilts, trigger warning for mild homophobia and maybe a little internalized lesbophobia?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 21:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10370007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embryonic/pseuds/embryonic
Summary: Alex is slowly coming to terms with her identity. Maggie is there to help.





	

-

When she wakes up, the sun has started to go down and the living room is bathed in warm orange, the bright light of the afternoon fading away into a dull glow. Alex never takes naps. She feels slightly disoriented as she blinks herself awake and readjusts to her surroundings. The window is cracked open and there is a slight breeze coming through. The apartment smells like the beginnings of a meal being prepared - garlic simmering in a pan, fresh basil being chopped – and she pulls the quilt that’s covering her around her shoulders, noting that the worn copy of _Fun Home_ that she fell asleep reading is now lying closed on the coffee table, bookmark snugly in place.

She hears Maggie humming softly from the kitchen as she stretches. It’s just past 6 on Friday, Alex realizes happily, and they’d planned to have dinner tonight. Maggie must have let herself in with her key.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” comes her girlfriend’s voice after a moment.

“Mm,” says Alex, voice slightly rough, “I fell asleep reading.”

“Yeah, I saw,” says Maggie, making her way toward the couch with a half full glass of red wine in her hand, leaning against the side of the couch where Alex’s head has lolled, “you made a pretty big dent since the last time I saw you.”

“It was slow, so J’onn suggested I come home and catch up on sleep” says Alex, nudging into the palm Maggie’s got on her head, nails raking softly through her hair, “I like the book a lot so far.”

She’s slowly been making her way through the recommendations that Maggie’s given her: books, movies, music she’d never quite let herself be interested in, despite the odd sort of appeal they’d always had.

“I’m glad,” says Maggie, standing again, and forcing Alex to open her eyes at the sudden lack of contact, “want some wine while I finish dinner?”

“Not yet,” says Alex as she stretches, heading to the bathroom to freshen up and splash water on her face. When she’s done, she meets Maggie in the kitchen, where the smell of garlic gets stronger, and Alex realizes how hungry she is.

“What are you making?”

“That pasta dish I was telling you about the other day,” says Maggie, stirring the pot of sauce that’s simmering lowly on the stove, “the one my aunt used to make.”

“Yum,” says Alex, peering over Maggie’s shoulder as she wraps her arms around her waist, “it smells amazing,” she says, placing a kiss on Maggie’s neck, one below her ear, another on her jaw, “Want help?”

“Nah,” says Maggie, gesturing toward the bar stool with the spoon in her hand, “Sit. Tell me about your day,” she tells Alex, but even as she does it she’s leaning into Alex’s touch as her eyes close, “You’re gonna make me burn this.”

Alex smirks from behind her, “just saying hello,” she tells Maggie, who turns around in Alex’s arms with a smirk of her own.

“Hello,” she says, pecking Alex on the lips.

“Hi,” says Alex, kissing her again, then finally retreating when they both note the sauce in the pan starting to overcook.

Alex pours herself a glass of wine and steals a parmesan shaving before settling into one of the bar stools. The apartment is mostly silent, she realizes. Usually Maggie likes to put on music while she cooks, but she must have refrained to keep it from waking Alex up. Alex thinks of turning something on now, but decides that she likes this, right now: just the series of sounds that Maggie’s movements make up, knife on wood as she chops, sizzle of oil in the pan, soft, disjointed hum as she moves around Alex’s kitchen with ease.

It’s hard to imagine that just a few short months ago, Alex would have been spending this Friday night, like most others, either down at the lab unnecessarily busying herself with work, or alone on her couch with some takeout for one and a bottle of wine.

Maggie dips her pinky into the sauce to taste, adds a bit more salt. Alex smiles.

“Thanks for cooking,” she says.

“Of course,” says Maggie off-handedly, a half shrug, like it’s nothing, “I like cooking for you.”

When she looks up and meets her eyes after a long moment, Alex realizes she must be staring, caught in the act of realizing how much she likes having Maggie here in her space. She doesn’t quite know how to articulate it, doesn’t necessarily _want_ to right now, but the earnestness in her expression must give something away because Maggie looks up at her with one of those glinting smiles that she so often gives her.

“Grab some plates?” she asks, letting her off the hook, “it’s just about done.”

Alex sets the table and they eat, Maggie noting that she hasn’t made this dish in _years_ , she forgot how good it was. Alex agrees, and thanks her again for making it.

“You already said that,” Maggie tells her, smirking.

“I know,” Alex shrugs, “I just want you to know.”

Maggie smiles wider, collecting their plates as she stands from her chair and moves closer to Alex. “You know a better way you could thank me?” she asks, voice suddenly low. If Alex didn’t know any better (which, at this point, she does) Maggie might be messing with her. “Vegan ice cream,” she winks.

Alex groans. It’s mostly half-hearted now. She’s actually grown to kind of like most of the weird new food Maggie’s introduced her to since they’ve been dating, but she’d be hard pressed to admit it. She narrows her eyes, but is smiling all the same, “fine.” She concedes, “but we’re walking. I need the extra digestion time.”

“Deal,” says Maggie, already shrugging on her coat and tossing Alex’s toward her. 

 

She gets the chocolate coconut, just a small scoop because she can still hardly fathom eating anything by the time they walk the few blocks to the shop, and Maggie gets something with cherries and almonds.

“Thanks,” she says to Alex, who’s holding her cup as Maggie re-wraps the scarf around her neck once they’re outside the door.

Alex passes back her cup and Maggie kisses her, just a _thank-you_ peck that they break away from quickly, and Alex smiles until they turn to start walking back toward the apartment. 

She makes eye contact with the guy immediately, just as Maggie’s pulling her closer to her side – and he’s just some old baby boomer sitting at a table with a kid who looks to be about 7 or 8. He’s grimacing, she notes, and it takes her a stupidly long moment to realize why. They’re already at the crosswalk when she figures out that he was grimacing at her – at _them_ – and, she thinks, he was even angling his chair as if to keep the kid from seeing them together. Was he shaking his head? It happened so fast, she can’t be sure.

Did anyone else see it? Did Maggie? If she did, she’s not saying anything and, Alex thinks, perhaps she’s overthinking it.

But, she can’t _stop_ thinking about it. Not on the quiet walk home, and not once they’ve gotten back to Alex’s apartment and shed their coats.

Even hours later, naked and warm, pressed up against Maggie in her bed, she thinks of that moment – of the look in that stranger’s eyes.

“Hey,” Maggie says, catching Alex’s attention as she pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, “what’s up? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

“Oh,” Alex says, still feeling ridiculous. It was probably nothing, after all. Probably some strange bout of paranoia she’s developed. “You know that guy?” she says, attempting some level of casualty, “the one outside the ice cream shop.”

Maggie stills, just slightly. And, oh. It’s almost worse, thinks Alex, that she _does_ know what she’s talking about, that maybe it wasn’t just all in her head, “Oh,” she says, turning to face Alex, smile gone, “you still thinking about him?”

“I –“ Alex pauses, “I guess? I mean, I know it’s stupid. He’s probably just some bigoted asshole. He doesn’t even know us. But – I just – I don’t know. I feel like…” She feels herself fumbling over her words, unable to explain exactly what it is that’s been bothering her this much.

Maggie tilts her head to the side, just slightly, and keeps hold of Alex’s hand in her own. Alex goes on, “How do you just…let that kind of thing go? I mean, he’s not the only asshole out there. Not even close.”

She watches Maggie breathe in for a beat, gaze averted. “Honestly?” she says after a moment, “I think I’ve just gotten used to it, after all these years. I mean,” she says, “it’s nowhere near as bad as it was in the ‘90’s in rural Nebraska, but. It’s still hard sometimes. I know that, trust me.”

Part of Alex feels like an idiot for expecting some kind of easy answer. A bigger part of her knows there wasn’t going to be one. And she thinks of Maggie, too, having to deal with this since she was just a _kid_. She knows Maggie does not like to talk about it, and Alex tries very hard not to let something inside of her fracture, like she feels it wanting to do.  

“I don’t like that,” she says, laughing darkly, “I don’t _understand_ it. It’s not something that makes sense, and I just -”

“You still feel like this part of your life isn’t perfect.”

“No,” Alex says automatically. She does not want Maggie to mistake her insecurities about herself for insecurities about _them_. If anything, that’s the one thing in her life she is frighteningly content with. “I mean – It’s not that, exactly.” She pauses, tries to sort out her thoughts as Maggie looks at her all open and understanding, “sometimes it does feel perfect,” Alex admits, playing with Maggie’s hand in her own, “how I feel when I’m with you, that feels just about perfect,” she says sincerely, “and, other times too, I guess. When I was reading that book, and she was talking about her life – I just – feeling like there are other people who get it, you know? That’s…incredible.”

“I know,” says Maggie warmly, bringing her lips to Alex’s hand, wordlessly urging her to continue.

She feels tears brimming, overwhelmed with her admissions, and it’s stupid to feel embarrassed about it, Maggie’s seen her cry a ridiculous amount of times. She should be used to it by now.

“But there are other times,” she says, “like with that guy. Or, I don’t know, watching the news. Or thinking about how lucky we are to live here and not somewhere else. It feels so stupid to cry about. I mean, we have it so good, you know? It could be so much worse, and I just wanna be… _comfortable_ , you know? I just want to get over it, like – like, remember that night at the bar, with Lyla, and your friend from the precinct?”

“Erin?” asks Maggie, “yeah, I remember.”

They’d gone for drinks one night, and Alex hadn’t realized until now that something about it, about spending time with a group of queer women who clearly had more experience than she did, was slightly unnerving.

“Yeah, well,” Alex starts, “you were all so…confident, when you were talking about it,” Alex pauses, laughs stupidly at herself for not even being able to say it _now_ , “when you were talking about being gay,” she amends, “and I can barely even say the word when I’m alone with you. I feel ridiculous. Like I’m…not ready? Like I don’t have the right to call myself a lesbian yet. God, I sound so stupid, don’t I?”

“Oh, Alex,” Maggie says softly and, god, Alex wishes she weren’t crying now. She wishes she could keep her emotions in check for once. Maggie lifts her chin up to look at her, “hey, look. First of all,” she says earnestly, “there’s no right way to be a lesbian. You just are, baby.”

Alex gives in at that, just sobs softly and lets Maggie pull her into her chest. “I wish you would’ve told me you were feeling like this.”

“I didn’t know,” Alex manages after a moment, “I wasn’t really thinking about it, but, I guess it was all just kind of building up. I’m sorry,” she says.

“Hey, no,” Maggie tells her, “I didn’t mean it like that, I just. I want you to know that I’m here to talk about this stuff. I feel it too, okay? And Lyla, and Erin, and probably every other queer person I’ve met? We all deal with it. It’s not just you, Alex. You’re not alone, okay?”

She breaks again at that, at Maggie’s words, the hand gentle on her back, real and solid and unflinching.  Maggie lets her cry, again. She feels like such a wreck that this dynamic has become so commonplace in their relationship: her breaking, Maggie holding her together. Alex pulls herself away when she feels like she can and finds that Maggie’s eyes are slightly watery too. She presses her thumb softly to the skin beneath her eye where a tear has escaped and Maggie smiles, a little.

She laughs. “I really didn’t mean to turn our night into a crying contest.”

Maggie laughs at that too, wiping at her own eyes, “Everything’s a competition with you, huh?”

“Well,” says Alex, “I think it’s safe to say I’m winning this particular competition.”

Maggie shakes her head, but she has a fond look on her face as she looks at Alex. Alex stares right back, and it’s a long moment before Maggie speaks. “I remember feeling so alone when I first came out. Or,” she corrects, “I was outed.”

Alex softens, moves closer to Maggie as she goes on, “And I was so angry for so long, that I had no control over this part of myself, and that so much of my life was determined by what other people thought about me.”

“People are idiots,” says Alex.

“I know,” Maggie agrees, “but it’s hard to really stay adamant about that when you’re 14 and the only out queer kid in town.”

“I can’t imagine, Maggie.”

“It is what it is,” she says, shrugging, “I mean, the strange thing is, looking back now, I wouldn’t change too much. I wouldn’t change who I am, or who I love.”

Alex feels something swell inside of her as Maggie speaks. She’s overwhelmed, again, but the good kind of overwhelmed this time. She feels Maggie's skin against her own, warm and soft, and thinks again of her life a few short months ago, this wide, empty bed and these feelings inside her that she wouldn't have ever dreamed of letting out.

Maggie goes on, and she listens intently, “It made me who I am, you know? And it took me a long time to get here, but, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Alex kisses her at that, softly, for a long, stretched out moment. When she pulls away, it takes her another second to open eyes again and as she does, she sees Maggie’s face so warm and open, and promises her, “I don’t want to be anywhere else, either.”


End file.
